Writing Wednesday: Curtains

I like alliteration, and I like writing. In honor of both, every Wednesday I will post a new prompt and respond to it in 500 words or less. Post your links and stories in the comments!

Today's prompt has been taken from Prompt Literary Magazine where I am currently the Events Manager.

Prompt of the Day: Write a story that begins with a character peering out from behind a curtain.

The curtains were long and heavy, the color of milk or eggs. Annie had often wanted to draw them, to capture the blues and purples and browns of the pure white with her paints, but never seemed to remember. Instead she was hiding in them. Sitting on the ground with her knees tucked up into her chest she was surrounded by the gauzy white light of the window and the heavy folds of the curtain. Slowly she pulled the corner away from her face and peeked out into the living room.

Outside, her mother called softly to her. Annie giggled to herself as she watched her mother look under chairs and between pillows. Her mother, Mommy, pushed away a soft brown curl as she pulled away the blanket from the sofa and let out a little gasp of surprise.

"Where could she be? I was sure she was under here!"

Annie wiggled beneath the curtain, pulling her feet closer to her body, hoping that they did not peek out. Her heart beat loudly in her chest, and the thumping of it reverberated in her ears. She willed her heart to stop pumping, to beat slower and softer, but it would not listen. Bump bump, it told her. Bump Bump. She pulled the curtain back around her and closed her eyes, squeezing them tight to shush the sounds of her body and shut out the light. If she could only squeeze them tight enough then perhaps she would never be found. Her mother's feet passed back and forth in front of the curtain.

"Hmm, she couldn't be behind this curtain. That's just silly. Annie's too big to fit behind the curtains."

Annie wished herself smaller and wrapped her fingers around her knees. Annie imagined herself as small and light as a bread roll. She was a button, or a Lego, easy to loose and difficult to find. She was Annie in miniature. Annie the small. After a few more minutes Annie began to notice that her mother was no longer calling her name. She could no longer hear the pacing of her mother's feet before the curtain or the moving of the furniture, and the sounds of silence began to press in on her ears.

Annie's eyes snapped open. She coughed loudly, but no voice responded, and Annie realized that she was very much alone. She rocked back and forth a bit. She moved the curtain back and wiggled around in her place. She stood up and coughed some more and wished herself larger, large as a house. It was suddenly very important that she be found, that her mother fling back the curtain and scoop her up in her arms and tell her in her soft gurgling voice, "Mommy was so worried about you."

Annie sniffled a bit and then let out a soft cry. "Mommy? Mommy, I'm here. Here, here. I don't want to play anymore."

The sound of feet rushed back into the living room, and in the next moment Annie found herself warm and safe and several feet off the ground in the arms of her mother.